


Yoga Pants, 100% Off

by adaille



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cocky Dean Winchester, Crack, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Yoga Instructor Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 09:58:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17526596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaille/pseuds/adaille
Summary: In which Dean is a very distracting yoga student, and Castiel tries his best to be professional.He fails.It started, as things often do, with a pair of bright pink panties that said ‘EAT ME’ across the ass cheeks...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deancebra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deancebra/gifts).



> This is was supposed to be smut; it's mostly crack (smrack?) but is hopefully enough to make the lovely Deancebra smile upon the day of their birth.
> 
> Chapter one is my 'novelty underwear' square for the Destiel Smut Bingo, and chapter two is my 'Told you I was good at it' square.
> 
> If I can find another square that fits, I may add a bit more smutty smut smut to it later on, in which they do actually manage to get their pants fully off as the pick-up line in the title promises.
> 
> (Between the move and the new job and working on some longer stories, this is the first thing I've posted in a while. I'll try not to let it go so long again; I have a couple things in the works, promise!)

**\- Castiel -**

 

It started, as things often do, with a pair of bright pink panties that said ‘EAT ME’ across the ass cheeks.

Castiel was minding his own business so well at the time, too. Unfortunately, while he was very good at avoiding eye contact in gym locker rooms, he was very poor at avoiding eye-to-ass contact when someone attractive stripped and bent over in front of him, and the owner of the panties caught him staring.

It was bad enough when Castiel belatedly recognized the owner of the panties from the introductory yoga class he’d just finished teaching. Then the owner of the panties had to _wink_.

Castiel flushed bright red from his ears halfway down his chest, and fled from the incriminating mirrors without even bothering to put his shoes on.

* * *

The following week, he intended to avoid the locker room while anyone from his class was inside it—one sexy, green-eyed, panty-wearing ‘anyone’ in particular. That was his plan, and it was a good plan…but.

It turned out the sexy, green-eyed panty-wearer was now wearing a pair of yoga pants that read ‘THIS BOOTY’ across his pert rear. The sexy, green-eye, panty-wearing someone was also apparently named Dean, for all the good that knowledge was going to do Castiel. He was an adult, and a professional, and adult professionals did not oogle or ask out their students.

He found himself wondering (in an adult, professional way) if ‘THIS BOOTY’ had panties on beneath the yoga pants again, until suddenly he didn’t have to wonder at all. Dean bent over—unnecessarily and unfairly far, right in front of him, Castiel couldn’t help but think—and a bit of green lace was there, peeking up from behind his waistband.

Castiel resolved to wear a longer shirt and looser pants for future classes. As adult professionals do.

* * *

The next week, Dean’s shirt read ‘I’M REALLY GOOD AT IT’, with the word ‘IT’ being hot pink and covered in glitter for some reason.

Castiel resolved to talk to him for once, and Dean’s shirt seemed like a much safer topic compared to anything that he’d seen written on Dean’s bottom thus far. He gestured at the glittery word. “By ‘IT’, do you mean yoga?”

Dean winked at him, and it flooded Castiel with heat every bit as fast as that first time in the locker room. “Nope, but I’d be more than happy to show you what ‘IT’ _is_ , Teach.”

Two students nearby burst out laughing, and Castiel decided it was better not to ask any follow-up questions.

* * *

Week after week, Castiel did his best to ignore the words Dean liked to wear scrawled across his chest and ass. He also did his best to ignore the fact that the bits of fabric those words were scrawled _on_ kept getting smaller and smaller.

‘BEND ME HOW YOU WANT ME’ announced a sleeveless tank that rode halfway up Dean's back during his sun salutations.

A pair of yoga capris informed anyone interested that Dean was a ‘BAD BOY’.

‘ _CAN_ TOUCH THIS’ proclaimed a cut-off shirt that didn’t even cover all of his abs.

A creamy lace waistband—pulled up too far for it to have been an accident—claimed Dean was an ‘ANGEL’. A tiny arrow was scribbled on his lower back in red marker, pointing lopsidedly down towards the word, or…at something else. Castiel tried not to look at the panties or the arrow every time Dean’s shirt slid up like a peep show meant just for him, but it was difficult.

'YOGANNA LIKE IT' was stenciled on a different tank top with the 'IT' covered in more pink glitter; Castiel didn't fall for that one again.

‘JUICY’ read a pair of too tight yoga shorts on the day Castiel realized Dean’s legs were clean-shaven. That also happened to be a) the day Castiel realized he was really into thick, clean-shaven thighs, and b) the day Dean informed him he was ‘ _a real peach_ ’ and asked if Castiel ' _liked puns as much as he liked buns_ ’. Apparently, Castiel wasn’t as discrete about his staring as he thought.

He resolved to do better.

* * *

Castiel did not do better. Castiel continued to stare whenever he thought Dean wasn’t looking. And somehow, while wearing increasingly ridiculous clothes and flirting incorrigibly, Dean also wasn’t really paying attention to any of his fellow students in the class. He came in alone and left alone each time.

Castiel finally realized why when Dean came into class wearing ‘CAS’S ASS’ scribbled in what was clearly Sharpie across a perfectly good pair of white shorts. Stupidly, he blurted, “That’s a mouthful.”

Dean grinned widely, and said, “So’m I.”

He also gave Castiel a piece of paper with his number on it, so perhaps it wasn't all bad.

* * * * *


	2. Chapter 2

**\- Dean -**

 

Cas had been ridiculously hard to seduce, but it was worth it, Dean decided. The way those blue eyes had darkened with want when he’d seen Dean’s panties after that first class…

It was nothing on how lust-deep they were now. He should send Sammy a gift basket for talking him into trying yoga. But, he'd send it _after_ Cas finished what he was just now finally starting.

Dean had given Cas his number, expecting a call in two or three days (or possibly never, depending). He hadn’t expected Cas to follow him into the locker room after class. Two other students glanced their way, and started changing faster.

“You’ve been distracting me on purpose.”

Cas moved to box Dean against the locker room wall, then kept him pinned between his arms, clearly waiting until they were alone. By the time the door closed behind the last person, Dean was vibrating with anticipation, need already coiling low in his gut. He could feel every inch between them, hot with tension and delayed gratification.

“You’ve been distracting me on purpose,” Cas repeated, this time with a tilt to his head, eyes narrowed.

“Trying to,” Dean replied, forcing all the cheerfulness he could into his voice to cover how badly he wanted Cas to fuck him in a stall right now. “Want to grab a bite to eat and talk about it?”

Cas raised his brow, and Dean barely managed not to keen. “I want to know what kind of panties you’re wearing under those obscenely tiny shorts of yours.”

His mouth was suddenly too dry, and he cleared his throat. “Not wearing panties.”

“That’s a pity—” Cas started, but Dean was quick to interrupt his assumption.

“Not wearing anything under them at all.”

Cas pushed forward, then noticeably forced himself to stop, inches away. “May I kiss you?”

“Like you have to ask.”

“Dean,” he groaned, and fuck, Dean wanted to hear his name sounding like that from those lips every day of the week from now on, but Cas also wasn’t moving to kiss him yet.

“Yes, Cas, kiss me all you want, please.”

That was apparently all Cas needed, because Dean was crushed back into the wall as soon as the words finished leaving his mouth, the hard line of Cas’s body pinning him fully in place while he took what he wanted with lips and teeth and tongue. Dean was squirming and writhing and keening against him, wanton and not caring one bit—then the door opened. Cas didn’t pause, didn’t look up, and the door shut again just as quickly, whoever it was clearly deciding it was best to leave them alone.

“Cas—” he panted.

“Dean,” Cas groaned back, and damn, it almost derailed him again.

“Cas, unless you want to fuck me against this wall, we need to go somewhere else.”

Cas grunted, then pulled back far enough to search his eyes. Dean had no idea what he found, but it ended with Cas grabbing his hand and tugging him out of the locker room behind him, dragging him disheveled and with his cock tenting his shorts all the way through the gym and out the front door.

* * *

Dean was initially surprised when Cas drug him down the sidewalk away from the tiny parking lot, but it all made sense when they arrived at Cas’s loft one block over. Cas swore, fumbling with his keys, and Dean couldn’t help himself.

“So, you gonna give me a _private lesson?_ "

Cas groaned, and shoved one of the keys into the lock.

“You know, any yoga _you_ do is hot yoga.”

“Dean.”

“Your sun salutation would have me ‘rising’ every morning.”

Cas paused with the door half open, and leveled a stare at him. “Did you look up cheesy pick-up lines on the internet?”

“I was running out of things to put on my ass.”

Cas was turning away and mumbling, but Dean was certain enough that he muttered ‘ _at least you didn’t write FUCK ME on your back_ ’ to answer him with, “Thought about it!”

“You are incorrigible.”

Before Dean could reply, the door was closed and he was pressed against it with Cas’s thigh between his knees, rubbing him back to stiffness. Cas pushed his shirt up, spreading his fingers as he ran his palms over Dean’s stomach, then up and up until Cas could thumb his nipples. Sparks of pleasure jolted him, forcing him to twist left and right, struggling both into and away from the too-much-not-enough sensation in turns.

“Cas…”

“It might take me a month, but I’m going to fuck all of those cocky puns right out of you,” Cas snarled, then started biting his lips, his jaw, his ear, his neck, sending shockwaves of arousal through him.

Dean whimpered, his mind full of static and need as he rutted on Cas’s thigh, building dangerously fast towards a peak he didn’t want to reach yet. His cock was so hard it was fighting its way out the leg of his too short shorts when Cas reached down and grabbed the exposed head, driving a shout from his lungs. “Fuck!”

“Mm,” Cas hummed, dragging him away from the door by his dick, across the room to the couch.

He shoved Dean down hard enough he bounced on the cushions, then followed him, moving between his legs and pushing his chest down against Dean’s, kissing him as he pressed his cock down against Dean’s, over and over, press and away, press and away, building that heat and tension in Dean’s gut all over again.

“Are you clean?” Cas rasped, and when Dean grunted that he was, Cas echoed him, but neither of them moved off the couch.

It was too dry and not enough and perfect all at once, and Dean was already spiraling out of control when Cas fumbled his own yoga pants down far enough for his dick to slide against the exposed part of Dean’s own. Without the fabric between them to soak up the pre-come, Dean had just enough slickness to get a rhythm going, thrusting up against Cas.

He lost himself to the mindless push and pull, give and take, wanting to move to a bed, wanting to take his shorts off and prep himself, wanting to take Cas inside him on hands and knees, wanting, wanting, wanting but unable to stop long enough to do anything about it. Just when he thought he might be able to pull away to find lube, Cas came with a shout, covering the base of Dean’s own cock in hot, wet heat.

The sudden rush of slippery _yes good perfect_ had Dean following Cas quickly, and just that fast, months and months of build-up boiled out in a rush of ecstasy, locking every muscle in his body into spasms.

He came down slowly, awareness returning in stages as he registered the hard, heavy body on top of him, the sticky wetness between them, the awkward way his cock was still halfway trapped in his shorts. He wouldn’t change a thing, as long as there was cuddling and a round two as soon as they both could get it up again.

“Well.” He grinned. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Cas agreed, his breathing fast and shallow despite all the exercises he led them through in class.

“Told you I was good at it.”

“If only everyone was as truthful as your clothing,” Cas snarked, and Dean couldn’t help but toss his head back against the cushion and laugh.

They were going to get along just fine.

* * * * *


End file.
